


No longer the lost (no longer the same)

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Minor Will Daniels/Jemma Simmons, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: You’d think that being kept prisoner by a centuries-old inhuman would come with a nice set of chains and a tiny dirty cell, instead Simmons has a big bed, her own bathroom and a small kitchen.





	No longer the lost (no longer the same)

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt, ["You don't understand it now, but I’m trying to protect you" and "I don't need you to save me" + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/172316540164/hello-hello-biospecialist-you-dont-understand). ~~I'm so sorry, Jemma, you are precious and I'm mean.~~

Simmons’ quarters are nice. It’s not the first time that he’s visited them, but it always strikes him as _wrong_ how nice they are: you’d think that being kept prisoner by a centuries-old inhuman would come with a nice set of chains and a tiny dirty cell, instead Simmons has a big bed, her own bathroom and a small kitchen.

It unnerves him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asks, without bothering to hide her displeasure, as soon as she realizes who’s just come in.

“You are needed down at the lab,” Grant replies.

She frowns. “Am I?” She ponders his statement for a moment, and her frown deepens. “Will doesn’t like it when I go there.”

Grant clenches his jaw, because he remembers a time when nothing could have kept her away from her lab for more than a few hours, and _now_ — now she has no interest in science, she has no interest in _anything_ besides the thing parading around her dead boyfriend’s body. Grant hates that thing’s guts, he hates that he’s stuck working for something that he can barely _understand_ , let alone get free from, and the fact that Hive managed to make Simmons _docile_ can only push him further into his spiral of anger.

Hell, he ended up going to _Coulson_ of all people, _that_ says something – not that it helped much: the almighty SHIELD is pretty much wandering around in the dark, which is probably why they were willing to hear him out first and allow him to bring their genius scientist back to them later; he just hopes that this whole thing will end up with Hive scattered in pieces all over the floor, because since he went to _them_ he’d better get his freedom out of it at least.

“He’s waiting for you there,” Grant lies. In a second, Simmons’ whole face brightens and it looks like she’s found her purpose in life.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” she asks, moving to grab a sweater, every trace of contempt gone from her face. It’s like she’s walking on the clouds right now, and he doesn’t want to imagine how she’ll react when she’ll realize that Hive is still very much gone and that, if things go well, she will be very far away by the time he’s back.

The thing with incredibly powerful gods is that they have so much ego that it gets in their own way. Hive keeps Simmons with him for his own fun, because she worships him and that _connection_ that he somehow created – when he tried to explain it to Coulson’s team, they started theorizing that it might somehow work like a drug, but it’s not like they had any brain scans available – and he takes pleasure into knowing that she’s _his_ , a gift given to him by fate – Grant knows that it’s just dumb luck that Simmons was eaten by that rock, but the new boss is more of a fatalist and he loves being poetic.

In spite of how weirdly attached he is to his most prized prisoner, she’s not kept under lock and key, and she doesn’t have anyone following her around 24/7 either, convinced as Hive is that she will never try to walk away from him and that no one would dare taking her, or defying him in general.

Both assumptions are pretty idiotic in Grant’s opinion: he’s always been low-key convinced that, during one of Hive’s little trips around the world, Simmons would manage to break free from the mind trap she’s in, because she’s always been too stubborn to end up like that; it hasn’t happened yet so he’ll have to give her a little push instead of letting her take her time. There’s also the fact that not everyone is loyal to Hive: Grant can’t wait to get away from the damn guy, obviously, and there are some of his men that have not been scared into changing loyalties. Or better: they are half genuinely loyal and half scared enough of Hive that they think it’s not in their interest to really switch loyalties, if there’s a chance that Grant might regain power. At least _he_ doesn’t fry people alive on a whim – he _might_ be a bit trigger-happy at times, but still.

Given the lack of security around her, it’s not difficult to get Simmons out of her quarters without anyone raising an eyebrow at him. Two of his men are covering the shift at the lab, so again he doesn’t have much trouble getting locked up in there with her.

“What are you doing?” Simmons asks, crossing her arms. “Where’s Will?”

“Not here,” he replies, waving his hand dismissively. “And we are getting out of this place.”

She takes a step back. “ _I_ am not going anywhere, and especially not with _you_.”

Really, it’s funny that Simmons is so enamoured with someone who killed her boyfriend and has mistaken the poor bastard’s body for a nice suit, but she looks at _Grant_ like he’s the most disgusting thing she’s ever seen because he dropped her and Fitz in a medical pod to avoid having to empty the mag in their forehead.

He wonders if she even still loves Fitz or if this contempt is just out of habit.

“That wasn’t a request,” he says, sharply. Which maybe isn’t the best course of action, because Simmons is backing away towards one of the tables, and it might have been a while since when she’s seen the inside of a lab but he trusts that she could still try to find something to attempt to kill him.

He does have an ICER on him, but he was hoping to not have to literally carry her out: it’s too conspicuous and he’s already risking getting fried here if some bastard sees him.  

“Simmons,” he tries to amend, calmly. “You don’t understand it now, but I’m trying to protect you, alright?”

She scoffs. “Like when you dropped us in the pod?”

Well, thanks for the opening. “Who’s us?” he asks, promptly. “You and Fitz? You still remember Fitz? Because he’s losing his _mind_ trying to find a way to get you out of here, him and everyone else. Do you still care about them?”

Simmons blinks, and for a second she looks confused, like she’s trying to make sense of a really difficult puzzle that’s supposed to be easy, but just isn’t. “Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous,” she finally snaps. “But I’m happy,” she adds then, her lips twisting into a fanatic smile. “If they want me to be happy, they’ll leave me alone,” she explains. “I want to be with Will.”

Grant inhales sharply. “That’s not _Will_ ,” he snaps, and god does it feel good to say it, finally.

“I’ve spent months alone with him on a deserted planet, I think I can tell, thank you,” she points out. He doesn’t miss her fingers closing around a scalpel.

“I’m sure you could, if that thing wasn’t playing with your brain,” he remarks. The scalpel won’t be a problem: disarming her will be easy enough, the woman has little to no field training. “Will is dead, and somewhere in that genius brain of yours you _know_ it.”

“You are not making any sense,” Simmons states, glaring at him. “And I won’t let you trick me into trusting _you_ of all people.”

Grant opens his mouth to answer, when he hears two knocks on the door. Well, that’s his cue for someone approaching. With a sigh of frustration he takes out the ICER and shoots Simmons point blank, barely leaving her a fraction of second to react. A few moments later, he’s thrown her over his shoulder and he’s carrying her out through a secondary exit, used to bring equipment directly into the lab instead of walking around half of the building.

Coulson’d better find a solution to their problem real quick _or_ offer him some shelter, because if Hive finds out about this he’s going to be very dead very soon.

 

 

“I got her,” he announces, as soon as Coulson picks up the phone. He figures that Coulson won’t be interested in small talk, and _he_ is too busy trying to convince himself that he’s not going to get eaten alive by that thing to be into it.

“ _Did she come willingly?_ ” Coulson asks. Ever the optimist.

“Nope, I ICED her,” he replies, casually, throwing a glance at Simmons, handcuffed and tied to the passenger seat – just in case, he doesn’t want her trying to claw his eyes out while he’s driving, making them both crash as a result.

Coulson sighs. “ _Were you seen? Are you compromised?”_

He almost sounds worried, it’s touching. “Is that concern? I’m honoured,” he comments. “I don’t know, nobody tried to shoot me, I guess _that’s_ a good sign. Would SHIELD offer political asylum if I needed it?”

“ _Of course_ ,” Coulson replies. “ _Just bring her home safe, alright?”_

“Copy that,” he assures, before hanging up.

It takes Simmons twenty minutes more to wake up from her nap. At first she looks confused, then she squeezes her eyes, evidently pained – Grant still remembers what a killer headache those damn ICERs induce, he almost winces in sympathy –, then she realizes that she’s restrained. At that point, the confusion turns to panic and then to anger, as soon as she gets her eyes on him.

“What are you _doing_?” she snaps, fighting against the restraints like a caged animal.

“Don’t do that,” he admonishes, mildly. “You are not getting free and I’d rather give you back to your team in one piece.”

“My _team_?” she echoes, and when he glances at her he sees her angry expression being washed away by panic. “No. No, no, no, bring me back. _Ward_ , bring me _back_.”

He’s insanely glad that he restrained her. “Calm _down_ ,” he says, trying to keep his voice soothing even if he’s aware that it probably won’t do much. “I’m trying to save you here.”

“I don’t _need_ you to save me,” she snaps, fighting uselessly to get free. There’s no coordination, just a lot of desperation. She’s going to hurt herself if she goes on like that, and the sight is making his stomach twist unpleasantly. “I want to go _back_.”

“Simmons,” he insists, looking back and forth between her and the road. There aren’t many other cars around and it’s a straight trait, but if she doesn’t _stop_ soon he’ll probably have to ICE her again. If only so that he doesn’t have to watch the show. “Stop moving, alright? _Think_. You don’t really want to go back there.”

“I _do_ ,” she snarls. “I want to stay with Will, you have _no_ right to take me away, _no right_!”

“That’s not Will. It’s Hive, it’s the thing that _killed_ Will.”

“Stop _lying_ ,” she yells, jerking forward so hard that the seat moves with her. “Why are you doing this?” she asks then, and it almost sounds pleading. Grant decides that it’s best not to look at her right now. “Why do you always try to hurt me?”

About 90% of the people he knows would swear that he has no heart, but he’s pretty sure that he does and that it’s not happy to hear Simmons’ thin voice sound so— innocently hurt.

He sighs. “He has established some kind of— of control over you, alright? Maybe it’s like a drug, but whatever it is, it’s not you and it’s not real. Just try to sit back and think clearly and it’ll get better, alright? I promise.”

“And if doesn’t?” she asks, quickly. “If I try to _think_ , like you keep saying, and I find out that _you_ are wrong and I still want to go back to Will— can I go then?”

He wants to insist that that’s not gonna happen, _neither_ of those things, but he immediately thinks better of it. After all, if she thinks that there’s a way that she’ll get things to go her way, she’s more likely to stay calm and stop throwing tantrums. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal,” he announces. “You try to think while we are here, you don’t fight me when I get you to the Quinjet, and if by the time we arrive to SHIELD you still want to go back, I’ll take you.” He turns briefly towards her. “How’s that sound?”

She frowns slightly. “Will the others let me go?”

He shrugs, adverting his eyes back on the road. “You’ll have proven us wrong, why not?” There are _a lot_ of reason why letting Simmons back in the dent of the lion, no matter what she says, would be an horrible idea, but he’s pretty sure that right now the only thing that she can see is people standing in the way between her and lovely boyfriend, so would she question it?

“Alright then,” she finally agrees. “Deal.”

“Good. Start thinking then.”

He catches her glare with the corner of his eye, but she obeys.

 

 

It takes them two more hours to get to the spot where he left the Quinjet that Coulson kindly let him borrow, and Simmons starts looking around, her muscles tensed in anticipation as she most likely plans on running. Good thing he didn’t free her hands.

He makes sure to hold her tightly and not give her any chance at escaping.

The agent that Coulson sent to pilot the Quinjet greets him with a nod before disappearing on the plane, getting ready to take off: Grant had thought it was unnecessary, seeing how he’s perfectly able of making the thing fly on his own, but now that he’s stranding Simmons along he has to admit that he feels better knowing that he won’t have to watch his back every two seconds to make sure that she doesn’t try something to be let go. It wouldn’t be smart to compromise him if he was piloting the plane, but in the car she looked desperate enough to go back that he wouldn’t put it past her to try to take him out anyway.

“All set?” Agent Patton asks, as Grant secures Simmons to one of the seats. Grant had never seen him before, which means that he only knows him by reputation and that he doesn’t loathe him that much, which is refreshing and less of an headache.

“Yes, all good,” he assures. “Let’s go.”

Simmons is quiet. They have three hours minimum of flight ahead of them, and Grant is sitting in front of her, staring shamelessly as she nervously looks at the ramp.

“Please, don’t make me jump off a plane again,” he jokes, even if he’s pretty sure that she has seriously considered it.

Simmons shoots him an impressive glare. “I assure you that the _last_ thing I’d want is for you to catch me,” she says, coolly.

He shrugs. “I would anyway.”

She inhales sharply. “ _Why_ are you doing this?” she asks. Back to the note of desperation. Jesus Christ, is a damn break too much to ask for? “I’m at peace, I’m _happy_ —”

“You are brainwashed,” he cuts her off. He’s not really looking forward to the aftereffects of this, because he’s pretty sure that the whole thing is going to involve a lot of reminiscences of Kara that he’d rather live without, thank you, but _this_ version of Simmons is unnerving and he wants it _gone_.

“Will—”

“There’s no Will,” he interjects again. He watches her eyebrows furrow and anger twist her features, but he doesn’t give her time to object. “He’s dead, that thing killed him and now it’s stranding his _corpse_ along while he toys with you. Just _think_ , Simmons. You must remember it happening at some point.”

“I—I don’t—” She’s hesitating, confusion flashing on her face as if her features were actively trying to relax and trick her into believing that everything’s fine, and he guesses that that’s a good sign. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she finally says, though. “You can’t be trusted.”

“Not arguing that,” he shrugs. “But neither can that thing.”

“He’s not a _thing_ , he’s _Will_ , and he’s twice the man you’ll ever be,” she snaps, and aside from the juvenile insult the whole thing is getting frustrating. Blind devotion doesn’t look good on her.

“He may have been, but he’s dead now, so it hardly matters, does it?” She looks like she wants to eat him alive. He sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. “Alright, look,” he tries again, going for _calm_ and _encouraging_ this time. “I know that you think he’s real. He’s not, he’s gone, and that thing is _fooling_ you. I need you to try and think. You can make it, Jemma.”

“He’s _not_ —” she begins, fiercely, but then the anger seems to dissipate and the words die in her throat. She looks thunderstruck for a second, and it’s like she’s looking right through him. “You can make it, Jemma,” she repeats, in a whisper. “He said—” She sucks in a breath, and Grant finds himself once again object of her attention, but this time she looks scared and lost. There’s a new _clarity_ to it, though. “He said that I could make it,” she says, her voice quivering. “He said that it’d do anything to fool me— he told me to _run_. And I—I did. I left him there.” He can see tears building up in her eyes, and her lips become a thin line as she tries to take a grip. “And he died,” she adds. There’s barely any voice in it, but Grant hears it and a second later she’s bowed her head and she’s crying, shaking with sobs and looking like she’s about to shatter.

The unpleasantness of seeing Simmons so broken mixes with images of Kara collapsing under the weight of what happened to her, and he doesn’t really think about it much before unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to the sit right next to her.

“I’m going to free your hands, alright?” he warns, even if he doesn’t think that she’s paying much attention. It’s not the smartest move, because she may still cause problems, but they are on a plane and he’s a damn specialist, what can she really do?

The first thing that Simmons does is bringing her hands up to her face to hide behind them. She keeps muttering nonsense that he doesn’t really try to understand, as he wonders if he should just go back to his seat and leave her to it.

But she’s a _wreck_ and, short of clawing his eyes out, he has no choice but _watching_ it. And he’s not about to. If she doesn’t want him around, she can push him away.

He slides his arm around her, waiting for a shove or a scream of protest. What he gets, instead, is Simmons leaning in his direction and emerging from her hands to hide in his shoulder instead. The maneuver is complicated by her seatbelt, but he manages to wrap her into an actual hug, stroking her head with one hand and her back with the other.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, shaking like a leaf. Grant feels hatred burning his stomach, and he prays that whatever weapon they can find to get rid of that thing will _hurt_. He hopes that he’ll be the one to pull the trigger.

“I—I can’t— how _could_ I?” she adds, her voice breaking almost before she’s finished the sentence.

“Hey, it wasn’t you,” he says, holding her a bit tighter. He can feel her hands gripping his shirt, her arms pressed between her and his chest, and he thinks she tightens her grip as well. “It wasn’t you,” he repeats. “It was all him, and he’ll pay for it, I promise.”

“How could I not remember?”

He makes a conscious effort to keep his body relaxed and his breath even. He can’t give away any emotional reaction to her breakdown: she needs him to be solid and calm, not angry or upset. “He messed with your head. You broke through it, you did good.” He cracks a smile. “You’ve always been stubborn, after all.”

“I feel— so _ashamed_.” She’s still shaking and sobbing, and he sighs, deciding that she’s probably more in need of comfort than she’s determined to hate him right now, and that it can only do her good. He lays a kiss on the top of her head, coming to rest his chin on it then.

“It wasn’t you,” he repeats.


End file.
